Impossible Pursuit
by xphylia
Summary: Post Demons. Mulder deals with his feelings -- Scully deals with Mulder.


Title: Impossible Pursuit  
  
Author: X-Phylia  
  
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" belongs to CC and the Fox   
  
Network.  
  
Rate: PG to R (for some language)  
  
Category: MA, SA  
  
Spoilers: Fill-in for "Demons"  
  
Archive: Sure, just email me first.  
  
Feedback: Don't ask, just hit "send" :)  
  
This story was written as a birthday present for   
  
Mindy, but she ended up having to do the beta...   
  
Thank you, my friend, you did a great job!  
  
"IMPOSSIBLE PURSUIT"  
  
By X-Phylia  
  
"Agent Mulder undertook this treatment hoping to   
  
lay claim to his past -that by retrieving memories   
  
lost to him, he might finally understand the path   
  
he's on, but if that knowledge remains elusive, and   
  
if it's only by knowing where he's been that he can   
  
hope to understand where he's going, then I fear   
  
agent Mulder may lose his course, and the truths   
  
he's seeking, from his childhood, will continue to   
  
evade him... driving him more dangerously forward   
  
in impossible pursuit."  
  
- Demons -   
  
Once Mulder emptied the clip of his gun, the gloomy   
  
house was engulfed by an ominous silence. He leaned   
  
forward, his head hanging down in the ultimate   
  
picture of defeat. He just stayed there, like a   
  
broken puppet, while Scully kneeled beside him and   
  
attempted to comfort him, to pull him out of the   
  
darkness he had chosen to dive into. She was aware   
  
of the sheer desperation of his acts, yet she was   
  
having a hard time acknowledging how far Mulder was   
  
willing to go to uncover the events of his   
  
childhood. Everything he had done in the last   
  
couple of days had defied logic and common sense -  
  
even by Mulder's standards.  
  
Once again, Scully had been dragged from her home   
  
on a weekend, away from the rest she so desperately   
  
needed in order to keep functioning despite her   
  
disease. And what for? To tag along a man who   
  
wouldn't listen to her sound advice, who ditched   
  
her without notice, who pointed a loaded gun at   
  
her?  
  
Police officers broke in to find both partners   
  
lying on the floor; Scully was propped against the   
  
wall and Mulder slumped over her, his head resting   
  
on her shoulder, arms hanging in a defeated   
  
posture. The scene was slightly unexpected for the   
  
men, and it showed on their faces.  
  
"Agent Scully...?"  
  
She nodded them away, not wanting to disturb   
  
Mulder. If the officers were puzzled by the unusual   
  
behavior of the two federal agents, they kept it to   
  
themselves.  
  
"I'll need to take Agent Mulder to the hospital,"   
  
she said. "Just give me a few minutes."  
  
Mulder didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to   
  
stay there in the dark, quiet depth of the summer   
  
house, away from people who would ask too many   
  
questions and not understand the answers.  
  
"I just needed to know, Scully... I *need* to know.   
  
You don't understand," he mused brokenly against   
  
her shoulder.   
  
She didn't know what to say, overwhelmed by her   
  
mixed emotions. Mulder was obviously hurting and   
  
that brought the impulse to comfort him, to draw   
  
him close to her and caress him until his anxiety   
  
subsided. But on the other side, she was plain   
  
furious with his actions. Maybe he was right; she   
  
didn't understand.  
  
"We'll talk about that later. Right now we need to   
  
get you to a neurologist," she said as gently as   
  
she could manage.  
  
"No. No hospital. I want to stay here."  
  
"Look, Mulder, in the last two days, you've dragged   
  
me out of bed at 4:50 am on a Sunday, ignored my   
  
medical advise regarding your seizures, ditched me   
  
at your mother's, and pointed a gun at me. I'm   
  
*asking* you to go to the ER. Do you think you can   
  
do that for me?"  
  
Her tone wasn't overtly accusatory, but it did   
  
sound that way in Mulder's ears.   
  
"I'm sorry, Dana. I had to do it. I can't let this   
  
go."  
  
Scully sighed. The switch from Scully to Dana was a   
  
smooth move. Mulder didn't want his partner to   
  
scold him for his reckless behavior; he needed his   
  
friend to alleviate the emotional pain.  
  
"Okay, here's the deal: we go to the hospital to   
  
check you out. I won't back down from that one, but   
  
I promise I won't make you stay for the night   
  
unless it's strictly necessary."  
  
Mulder's obvious reluctance to being examined was   
  
not lost on the doctors and nurses tending to him,   
  
and he flatly refused to being admitted and staying   
  
overnight for observation, as the doctor suggested.   
  
He kept glancing meaningfully in Scully's direction   
  
the entire time, as if afraid that she might forget   
  
their deal. Scully was past the point of arguing   
  
with him as she drove both of them back to   
  
Providence. He was exhausted, and his introspective   
  
mood suggested that the emotional shock was   
  
beginning to subside as the enormity of what he had   
  
done permeated his skin.  
  
Serves you well, Mulder. When the hell are you   
  
going to quit doing stupid things like this? Who   
  
are you going to call if something happens to me?  
  
The thought of her own mortality -a very real,   
  
frightening perspective- made her shudder, and for   
  
a brief moment, she hated him. Didn't he know what   
  
she was going through? In the last few weeks she   
  
had been feeling tired all the time, the nosebleeds   
  
were increasing in frequency and intensity, and   
  
only her prayers must have spared her today. The   
  
last thing either of them needed was a dramatic   
  
reminder of how fragile reality was. But then   
  
again, she prided herself of her ability to hide   
  
her discomfort from Mulder to the point of allowing   
  
him the illusion that everything was *fine*. Would   
  
his behavior be so reckless if he were more aware   
  
of her deteriorating health, if she hadn't kept him   
  
at arm's length?  
  
This wasn't a good time to be delving into Mulder's   
  
emotional instability. She needed him strong,   
  
confident -not vulnerable and defeated- and yet she   
  
had consistently denied herself the comfort of his   
  
embrace, his silent understanding and whispered   
  
reassurance. Mulder, on the other hand, had no   
  
qualms about calling her in the middle of the night   
  
to help him clear up his mess. Didn't that say a   
  
lot about how things worked between them?   
  
Scully parked the car in front of Room 6 of   
  
Hansen's Motel in Providence, just like she had   
  
done almost 48 hours earlier. She, too, was   
  
exhausted.  
  
"Wake up, Mulder. We're here," she called him.   
  
Mulder seemed a little disoriented, which sent   
  
pangs of worry all through her body. "Are you   
  
okay?"  
  
"Um, yeah, just tired. Sorry," he mumbled.  
  
"Then go ahead and take a shower. I'm going to see   
  
if they have another room available."  
  
When she returned to his room fifteen minutes   
  
later, she found him curled up on the bed, wrapped   
  
in the same blanket she had covered him with upon   
  
finding him shivering in the shower. She kneeled by   
  
his side, moved by the obvious emotional pain his   
  
body language was emanating.  
  
"It'll be okay, Mulder. Get some sleep," she said,   
  
caressing his still wet hair.  
  
He looked up at her.  
  
"Scully, thank you. For everything."  
  
She nodded a brief smile and was about to get up   
  
when he reached out and grabbed her arm.  
  
"I know I asked a lot from you already, but..." he   
  
vacillated.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I have no right to ask for this, and please don't   
  
take it the wrong way...um, would you stay   
  
with me tonight? Please, Dana. I don't want to be   
  
alone."  
  
The pale light of the room reflected in his eyes,   
  
revealing the true nature of his feelings. He was   
  
afraid, hurt, and lonely. It was the sheer   
  
loneliness she saw in him that made the decision   
  
for her. That, and his rather annoying habit of   
  
calling her by her first name and taking her off-  
  
guard.  
  
"Okay, but first I need to go back to the front   
  
desk to cancel the other room. I'll be back in   
  
ten."  
  
Freshly showered and clad in comfortable clothes,   
  
Scully felt almost human again, albeit a little   
  
disconcerted about sharing a bed with her partner   
  
in a motel. A needy Mulder was a rare occurrence,   
  
but honestly, she'd sleep a lot better herself   
  
knowing that she'd be there in case he lapsed into   
  
another seizure. So, she slid between the sheets   
  
gingerly, believing him to be already asleep and   
  
not wanting to disturb him.  
  
Mulder wasn't sleeping. He couldn't close his eyes   
  
without seeing cascades of images in an infinite   
  
loop. Which of them were true memories, and which   
  
were the product of some residual ketamine still   
  
messing with his brain? It was frightening not to   
  
be able to tell the real from the unreal. He felt   
  
so incredibly sad and dejected; it was almost a   
  
physical pressure weighing heavily on his chest.   
  
The warmth radiating from Scully's body, lying so   
  
close to his, was his only source of comfort.   
  
Everything else seemed cold, distant.  
  
Hold me, Scully. Show me that you love me, that   
  
you care. Tell me I'm not just a bastard that no   
  
one wants...  
  
He fought the spasm in his stomach provoked by his   
  
morose thinking and stifled a groan. Almost   
  
immediately, a warm hand squeezed his shoulder.  
  
Mulder sat down and leaned forward against his bent   
  
legs, arms wrapped around them -his favorite   
  
protective position. Scully propped herself against   
  
the headboard, and started to run her hand up and   
  
down his back.  
  
"You scared yourself this time, huh Mulder?" she   
  
said gently. It was hard to stay mad at him. Was   
  
all of this actually his fault, anyway? Looking   
  
back, she could see a pattern in Mulder's peaks of   
  
recklessness and sheer stupidity, which seemed to   
  
coincide with episodes in which his family was   
  
involved somehow: Alaska and the Samantha clones,   
  
New Mexico after his father was shot, running away   
  
to Canada after his mother's stroke, letting loose   
  
a serial killer who claimed to have murdered his   
  
sister, and now this. Had he ever really had a   
  
choice, or had it been his own family background   
  
which had shaped him and condemned him to this   
  
impossible pursuit? Scully felt for him, realizing   
  
that no matter how hard she tried to rationalize   
  
his actions, she couldn't begin to understand all   
  
that her partner had gone through in his life. He   
  
was at the end of his rope already, and she hated   
  
to think of what would happen to him once she   
  
wasn't by his side.  
  
Mulder's voice sounded cracked and hoarse.  
  
"I needed to know, Scully. It's my life. I have the   
  
right to know," he said, anger and bitterness   
  
tingeing his words. "She's my mother, and she   
  
slapped me."  
  
"She slapped you? Why? What did you say to her that   
  
upset her so much?"  
  
"I asked her who my father is."  
  
The silence felt heavy, but at least she now knew   
  
why Mrs. Mulder had bolted out of the room in a   
  
hurry, and why her son had left her stranded at her   
  
house.  
  
"I'm sorry I left you behind," he apologized as if   
  
reading her mind. "I was so angry... I guess I had   
  
forgotten just how bad my mother's silence always   
  
made me feel," he added in a choked whisper.  
  
The silence was even more difficult this time.   
  
Scully wondered if Mulder was aware of how much he   
  
was revealing about his family life, if he was   
  
saying it because he just needed to talk about it   
  
or because he wanted her to know. Either way, he   
  
was tearing her heart apart.  
  
"Mulder, whatever your reasons are for questioning   
  
your mother, please don't base them on those   
  
ketamine-induced visions. There's no way of knowing   
  
if they are real, if they can be trusted as   
  
legitimate memories."  
  
"But what if they are, Scully? What if all I know   
  
are lies, if my whole life has been a lie? Could   
  
you live with that? Would you ever forgive your   
  
parents?"  
  
No, of course she wouldn't. That kind of betrayal   
  
was too painful to even consider. It made her want   
  
to lie down and cry herself silly. Just how   
  
accustomed to that kind of heartache one needs   
  
to be in order to speak about it softly, like   
  
Mulder was doing? How many layers of thick skin did   
  
that take? And how had he avoided faring worse   
  
after such traumatic childhood? The more she   
  
learned about his life, the more she felt like   
  
handing him the right to be a little unstable. But   
  
all things considered, Mulder was amazingly normal.   
  
He had achieved many important things in his life.   
  
Scully found herself sincerely wishing he would let   
  
go of his past, but Mulder and his quest were so   
  
inextricably united that neither of them could   
  
survive without the other. She had trouble   
  
picturing him happy, living a stable, normal life;   
  
his future seemed almost as dark as her own.  
  
"I understand your need to know, Mulder, but you   
  
shouldn't force it. Maybe there's a reason why you   
  
can't remember what happened to you."  
  
He snorted.   
  
"As in 'You may not be able to handle the truth'?"  
  
"I don't claim to know it all, but I don't think   
  
I'd be wrong if I said that you didn't have an easy   
  
family life."  
  
"That's an understatement whose extent I can't even   
  
begin to explain."  
  
She swallowed hard.  
  
"Then why don't you leave it alone? Why are you so   
  
bent on learning things you know will probably   
  
destroy you? Listen to me, Mulder. We both need to   
  
face the possibility that I might not be around in   
  
the near future, and..."  
  
Mulder's body tensed, as if he had received an   
  
electric shock discharge.  
  
"Don't *GO* there, Scully," he interrupted her   
  
sharply. "Please."  
  
Well, hello, denial, nice to meet you too.  
  
"I just want you to be happy. There's more to life   
  
that hanging on a past that doesn't let you choose   
  
your own path," she said, gently rubbing his back.  
  
"I can't let go, Scully. You know I can't. I need   
  
to know, and I'm going to find out, even if it's   
  
the last thing I ever do."  
  
"You mean you're not going to give yourself even   
  
the slightest chance?"  
  
"Damn it, Scully!" he snapped, startling her. "I   
  
can't believe you, of all people, are saying this   
  
to me! I want the Truth, with capital T! I've   
  
risked my life countless times in search of proof,   
  
and I would do it all over again, because that is   
  
what I believe in. But how can I expect to uncover   
  
a global conspiracy when I can't even find the   
  
truth about my own family? How can I blame   
  
Cancerman for lying to me when my own mother won't   
  
answer my questions?"  
  
Mulder's rant finished on a broken sob. He leaned   
  
back against the headboard to the bed, but Scully   
  
caught him and drew him against her, not at all   
  
surprised when he eagerly sought her comfort.  
  
"My mother always had different priorities, Scully.   
  
I do believe she loves me, but her ultimate loyalty   
  
is not with me. It never was."  
  
"Mulder, for what it's worth, I don't need to know   
  
your past to know who you are. A man is defined by   
  
his actions, his convictions... and that makes you   
  
one of the finest people I've ever known in my   
  
life. I also know that some day the Truth will be   
  
revealed to you, to us. But until then..."  
  
Mulder turned around and slowly lowered his body   
  
over hers; his arms encircled her in an almost   
  
painful grip, and his head rested against her   
  
shoulder. Did she know how much he had ached to   
  
hold her like this, to feel her hand stroking his   
  
back, her fingers massaging his scalp? His heart   
  
was still pounding in his chest. He was sure Scully   
  
could feel it, but to her credit, she remained   
  
silent and kept caressing him until he lamented the   
  
presence of his cotton t-shirt between his skin and   
  
her hand. He cried in her arms all of the tears he   
  
couldn't shed in front of anyone else. He could   
  
bare his soul to her because she listened, and at   
  
least she tried to understand. But most of all, he   
  
cried because he knew there wouldn't be many more   
  
nights like this; the intimacy would be as fleeting   
  
as the fake memories he had vainly tried to grasp.  
  
"Let's go to sleep, Mulder. I'll stay with you. I   
  
won't let you go," she whispered as she lay down   
  
back between the sheets. For all she had fought to   
  
keep him away, Scully was now overwhelmed by how   
  
good it felt to hold him so close -for the first   
  
and possibly last time in her life.  
  
Life is so unfair, Mulder.  
  
Mulder couldn't resist the pull of sleep any   
  
longer, but his last conscious thought was loud and   
  
clear.  
  
I'm *not* going to live without you, Scully.   
  
Fin  
  
Thanks for reading! 


End file.
